poem

The Bear

We speculated on the

nature of the four

sturdy women camped

half mile out the

arc of beach, sifted

through the evidence, drew

our prurient conclusions,

logic bent to serve a

tasteless master. The bear,

on the other hand, drove

a shaft of certainty through

the heart of the night.

Stuck between his woods and

the Big Lake, we squatted

on a patch of sand waiting

for the northern lights or

the jack of diamonds or

another drink, or an off-shore

wind to blow the

mosquitoes back into the

trees, our ears pricked up

at the rasping chuff coming

from somewhere just

beyond the glow of our

lantern. Lulled and blinking

we huddled, shielded by

smoke from a thousand

cigars. “We’ve got to

challenge her before she

comes into camp”, he

said, then shouldered his

way into the darkness. Nothing

could coax me into the

black night full of trees

that spoke and ravens

who could tell the

future.